


There’s Nothing Wrong With A Bit Of Bondage And Knife Play Between Close Friends

by aquatarius



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Knife Play, M/M, Non-Sexual Bondage, Non-Sexual Kink, Pale Porn, Pale Romance | Moirallegiance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-10-08
Packaged: 2018-08-17 12:45:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,126
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8144521
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aquatarius/pseuds/aquatarius
Summary: After arriving a bit late, the Orphaner has to deal with a grumpy moirail.





	1. Chapter 1

 It’s been a long few weeks at sea and you’re _finally_ back at port for long enough that you can visit your moirail. You head to the carnival at once, of course, not holding back from kicking or elbowing other sea dwellers who get in your way. A clown gets in your way and leaps back out of it before your hand can catch his face in a slap.

 You head into the carnival and duck around tents and head to the throne room, one of the only actual buildings and older than the empress herself. You walk into it, slamming the doors open and letting them slam shut on their own.

 The Highblood is sprawled across his throne, and he doesn’t bother to sit up when he sees you. He glowers at you as you walk closer to the throne. You’ve seen him cross the entirety of the hall in moments so it’s no use staying next to the doors.

 “Kurloz,” You greet him with a twitch of your fins. He clacks his claws against his throne and stares at you.

 “Fish. You’re late. Again,” He grumbles. He shifts his massive weight in his throne and glowers at you harder.

 “I have my duties. You know that,” You say. He honks in the most forlorn manner you’ve ever heard and you can’t help but roll your eyes at him. “I’m here now, aren’t I?”

 “Bitch, do I look like I CARE if you’re here _now_?” He asks, expression changing from lonely and petulant to enraged in a moment’s time. You stop at the foot of the stairs leading to his throne and stare at him as if he’s a misbehaved child. He practically is.

 “Don’t call me names. Come with me to your room, all right? We can talk there,” You say. He hisses loudly at you, so you walk up the stairs. He tips his head to show you his horns, and you firmly grab onto the tip of one. “Come.”

 You pull and he flails in your grip. He tries to kick your hip, but you swivel and yank harder. He tumbles off his throne with a loud honk. He doesn’t get up, staying down and glowering at you. You twitch your fins in annoyance at the loud sound. What a _child_.  

 Kurloz gives in, however, twisting away and scrambling up to his feet when you let go of his horn. He gives you a scathing look and leads the way to his room, boots making soft scuffing sounds as he walks. His room is a large, dim room filled with face paint, clothing, horns, and blankets. It’s trashed, of course, in typical Kurloz fashion. He flops down on a pile and goes back to glowering at you.

 It’s nothing unusual to have him be grumpy and pouting at you, so you ignore him and pick up his room until you can walk around comfortably in it. He continues to sulk when you straighten, finished with your work.

 You walk over to him and chirp as you crouch next to the pile. His only response is his stony glower. You grab onto his horn, closer to the base, and rub gently. Kurloz honks in irritation and twists away.

 “Fuck OFF,” He snaps. “Don’t be needin’ an over controlling bitch fuck in here, y’hear?”

 The words prick at your heart and pain you to hear, but he’s said worse. You have too, for that matter. So you brush it off and climb onto the pile with him.

 “Yes you do,” You say. “You need me. You love me. We can snuggle for a bit, okay?”

 “NO,” He punctuates that with a loud HONK that almost makes you flinch. Would, in fact, if you weren’t used to it. You back off, climbing off the pile and heading to a chest in the corner of the room.

 He lifts his head and watches you. You open the chest and take out a gag, some ropes, and a crop. A grin tugs up your lips and you glance at him. His eyes are wide and alert, ears pricked up and mouth slightly open. You have his attention. Good.

 “What are you doing?” He asks. You don’t respond, bringing the things over to him. He knows damn well what you’re doing. He presses his lower face into the blankets, muffling himself and his next words so badly you can’t hear them.

 “Come back up here,” You say. He blinks slowly. “I’m going to gag you. Bad boys don’t get to speak.”

He quivers. Not in fear, of course, but in excitement. You can feel it thrumming down the strings of his voodoos and tingling the base of your skull. Slowly, taking his time, he lifts his head. You reach forward and press the gag against his mouth. He opens it at once, and you croon as you gently cram it in. He bites down on it and lowers his face again.

 “There. Much better,” You say. You stroke the top of his head and he growls. The sound is muffled and it sends a spike of delight down your spine. You’re in control, now. “Give me your hands.”

 He’s just as slow in obeying, but he does it. He gives you his hands. You take them and wrap them up tightly. His excitement grows, sliding off the strings of his voodoos and dripping excitement and anticipation into your mind.

  Kurloz tugs on his hands, once they’re tied, making sure that he can’t escape. Once he’s satisfied, he grunts and rolls onto his back. Seeing him open and bare like that, it’s _lovely_. You climb onto the pile and slid a knife out of your boot.

 “Ready, Kurloz?” You ask. He stares at you with wide, innocent looking eyes. “Good boy.”

 The first thing you do is cut off his clothing. Sliding the knife up the sides of tank top and then pulling off the rest of the fabric. He gives the most delighted shiver once he’s naked. Scars criss cross his torso, as well as tattoos. Bits of poems from his blasted clown-y books, symbols, quads…A scene you know so well.

 The hollow of his neck has something special. A diamond shape, pink, with your sign in your color on it. You stare at it, remembering the night the two of you got shit faced and woke up in his pile with that on him. You have a matching one, with his symbol instead of yours.

 You lift the knife and press the tip into the center of the symbol, right between the two wavy lines that make up your sign. He groans again and tips back his head. The Highblood’s throat is bared to you, completely, and you can’t bare how _hot_ that is.  You press the knife harder, almost enough to press the skin, but not quite.

 “Do you like that?” You ask. He honks, muffled by the gag, of course. “Yeah. ‘Course you do. Like being reminded you aren’t in control. I could slit your throat. I could do anything to you. Do you understand that? Hey!”

 His eyes are closed and a purr thrums out of his throat. He looks completely relaxed. Practically melting into the damn pile. He jerks a little with your shout, but he doesn’t open his eyes and his purring only grows louder.

 Well. Time for other measures. You set the knife back in your boot. He whines when it’s taken away from his throat, the moron. You take off his boots, but leave on his pants. They are a soft fabric, and won’t impede your work with him.

 Then, you straddle him. He opens his eyes and lifts his head to give you a wide eyed, innocent look. You meet his gaze and pick up the crop. Without warning, you slap his face with it. Not too hard, not even hard enough to leave a mark.

 The Grand Highblood jerks under you. He keens, a wonderful, muffled noise, and sets his head back down. His chin goes up as far as he can force it, baring that delightful throat of his once more. Begging for more pain, in one of the most sensitive places you can give it.

 You don’t accommodate him. You brush the tip of the crop over the Highblood’s chest, tracing a scar. He groans in disappointment.

 “Hush. Be patient or you’ll get nothing,” You tell him. He shuts up and waits for you to trace your way back up to his throat. You press the tip in, relishing the way his flesh bends under your crop. You lift, and then tap.

 You spend a few minutes that way, tracing a way down his chest, then back up, prodding and poking and tapping.

 The Highblood is trembling under you by the time you smack. It’s light and gentle, but it still makes him jerk. You chuckle, and then smack again, harder.

 “Look at you. You know I could do anything to you. You know I could hurt you like no one else has ever hurt you. And you’re still melting for me. Begging for the pain. You’re disgusting,” You tell him. He honks weakly. You know he loves hearing you talk this way to him. You’ve had many a talk about it. You love talking to him like that as much as he loves hearing you. Makes for some damn good paling. “You hear me? You’re filthy. I bet you’d go belly up for anyone who promised to tie you up and give you pain. You would, wouldn’t you? Yeah?”

 He nods enthusiastically, and you bring the crop down on his cheek. This time, hard enough to leave a mark. He doesn’t even jerk that time. He’s completely fuckin’ relaxed under you. He trusts you, he won’t flinch or jerk or ask you to stop. His voodoos are dripping with pleasure and soft,whispering pleads for more. He knows how you like him.

 You lean down and nuzzle against his neck. He twists his head to try to nuzzle your hair and you sit up at once. A moment later, the crop meets with his face.

 “You don’t move unless I tell you you can move. Hear me?” You snap. He nods, arches up a little bit. Opens his eyes and fixes you with a gaze that looks down right _needy_. Fuck. You drop the crop to the side.

After a few moments of staring at him, you lean down and press your face into his neck. You inhale his scent, his bloody, sweaty, dirty scent. There’s the scent of candles, too, of smoke and wood. Faygo and soper. So many scents overlapping each other to make the one that means _Kurloz_.

 You bite his throat gently. You can imagine ripping it out, making him bleed and whimper on the ground. He doesn’t make a sound other than purring as you bite hard enough to leave a bite mark on his skin.

 What a dip shit. Your dipshit. You love him so much. Your pitiful, silly, clown of a moirail. You bite again, and leave a beautiful array of bite marks behind. Everyone will blush like hell when they see it, know that he trusted someone enough to let them bite his throat up.

 Eventually, you pull up and stare down at him again. He’s fucking asleep. You’d hoped to get a little bit more out of him this round around, but apparently, you played just too good with him and put him out. Oh well. You can play with him again tomorrow night. Or he can play with you. Or maybe the two of you will just sit down and snuggle on the pile and talk and clean horns. That all sounds damn good.

 You sigh quietly and undo the ropes holding him in place. The gag comes out next, and you set it aside. He closes it and stirs a little, half opens his eyes to look at you.

 “Shhh.” You say. “Go to sleep. I got you, brother.”

 He honks softly and closes his eyes again. You slid down to lay next to him. Setting the crop to the side, you close your own eyes. His soft purrs lull you to sleep, and you sleep deeply.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ghb scares Dualscar and acts like a child.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick note: No noncon happens, BUT Ghb does voodoo stuff and Dualscar yells at him afterwards for it so if that squicks you you might wanna skip this chapter.

You wake up slowly. Your mind feels heavy and the realization that you’re up to his gills in voodoos was slow to come. After it does, however, it becomes easier to fight against it. (Better the devil you know then the devil you don’t.) You feet around your mind until you find  a string of the voodoos, and pul to pull on it to get Kurloz’s attention.

 The clown croons into your mind and fills it with soothing, warm thoughts. You can’t help but relax. You know your moirail won’t hurt you, and everything just feels too…Good and calming. The voodoos are responsible for that, no doubt.

 Before long, though, you decide to try to move. You open your eyes and see the wall. You’re on your stomach, cheek on the carpet. A giggle greets your ear and you grin lazily.  You try to pull yourself up, but realize that your limbs are tied up. You can’t move your legs, which are bound at the legs and the ankles. Your arms are crossed behind your back and the forearms bound together so your hands can touch the upper arms of the opposite arm. You tug weakly against your bonds.

 “Aw, fish. Trying to escape?” He giggles again, louder, and reaches down. He presses his fingers into the back of your neck, and then his voodoos twist. They twist and fill your mind with the worst horror you’ve ever felt.

Shadows twist and jerk and form into the most horrifying things you’ve ever seen. The scent of blood assaults you and clogs your senses. You can’t breathe.

You jerk and struggle, this time frantic and hard. The only thing you can smell is blood. Everything in you screaming that it’s yours. You can’t move, and there’s a hand wrapping around the back of your neck.

 “Shhoooosh, brother.” Kurloz’s voice is low and raspy. He crawls over you and his lips brush against the shell of your ear. “You’re safe. You know you are. Chill, my most valued and precious bro.”

 A sob escapes you, an awful, wrenching sob that makes your body jerk. He twists his hand and brushes the backs of his knuckles against your skin. The terror doesn’t stop. Somewhere, deep in you, there’s a voice saying that it’s not real, but you don’t listen to it. It’s impossible to listen to it.

 “Shhh. It’s okay. You’re safe.” He croons. Why he’s insisting that you’re safe when you are the most unsafe you have ever been is a mystery that you don’t have the time to puzzle out.

 You twist your hands just so, and then start to pull to escape the bonds. Before you can, though, Kurloz grabs onto your wrists and holds them in place. The hand still on your neck starts to play with your hair.

 “Safe, bro. You’re perfectly safe. Safe as a grub in the egg.” He insists. Despite the fear, you start to listen to him. After all, he’s your moirail. He doesn’t seem alarmed, so why should you? “That’s it. Breathe easy, sea friend. You’re in my fabric hive.”

 The terror washes over you again, but this time, you focus on your moirail’s soft croons. You stop struggling and your breathing evens out. The terror, to your relief, begins to fade. It leaves you shaky and panting, but it leaves.

 “Aw, hell yeah. I knew you could do it, fishy.” Kurloz says. He sounds so proud of you, and it makes you croon oh so weakly at him. “Yeah, yeah. Shhh, hang on.”

 Kurloz pulls himself off you. There’s a relief in not being crushed, but it’s cold without him right on top of hyou. He heaves you into his lap, and twists you so you’re facing up at him. His paint is a little smeared, but he’s grinning widely. His voodoos have pulled out completely, and your mind is clear.

 The next couple minutes are quiet, him smoothing his fingers through your hair and you catching your breath. A lovely calm settles over you.

 “Did ya like that?” He asks. You look up at him with a raised eyebrow. He grins.

 You suddenly get smacked in the face with the realization that he was the one who did that. _He_ was the one to fill you with that fear. You growl and snap up at him, unable to do much more with how tied up you are.

 “Aw, no, don’t be like that. You all up ‘n liked that, didn’t you?” He says, grin fading.

 “No, go _fuck_ yourself, you asshole.” You snap. He whines at you, and it’s irritating. He woke you up to scare the shit out of you? “Why would you even _do_ that?”

 “I wanted to calm a palebro down.” He says, and then he whines again. He tips his ears down and scrunches up his eyebrows in some attempt to look apologetic and pitiful.

 It clicks for you. He wanted to calm you down. He wanted some fear play. It normally wouldn’t be a big deal, but he did it without asking you, and that ticks you off.

 “That is _not_ okay to do without asking, Kurloz. You scared me. Get me untied.” You demand.

 He slides his hands under you, and undoes your ropes. He begins a long, low, continuous whine that keeps going even as you roll out of his lap and undo your legs. When you stand up, he’s _still_ going. Empress’s spear, he has a set of lungs on him.

 You look down at him and he tips up his chin. He stops his whining and inhales deeply. He swallows, nice and slow so you can see his throat moving. That is so hot, but you don’t let yourself think about that.

 “Apologize, to start with.” You cross your arms and wait. He mutters a low, half assed apology. He’s not used to having to do that and it shows plain as the moons on a clear night. You’ve had just about enough of this clown. “I’m going to leave and go back to my ship.”

 There’s a honk of dismay as you turn your back to him and walk out of the tent.

 “Aw, Brother!” He calls. You can hear him moving after you as you leave his tent and start walking to the entrance of the carnival. “Come on, I said I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to make you so fuckin’ upset. Come back and have some snuggles, eh?”

 You ignore him and continue on your way. Maybe you’re being a bit harsh, but you doubt it. This isn’t the first time he’s fucked with your head in the name of pale shenanigans, but it’s one of the first times he’s done it without getting your permission first, and that shit ain’t going to fly.

 Kurloz follows you out of the carnival, to your surprise, continuing with his apologies and sad honks. He doesn’t touch you, but his voodoos thrum with the same apologies and floods his sadness into your mind.

 None of that does anything to sway you. The walk back to the port is long, and you spend every minute of it expecting that he’s going to give up and turn away. He doesn’t, though, and so you walk up the docks and into your cabin on your boat with that moron of a Highblood following you and honking his damn honk. It becomes harder and harder to ignore the looks of those around you, but you manage it well enough.

 You try to close the cabin door behind you, but Kurloz shoves his way in and leans heavily against you.

 “I said I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to get your tits all in a tizzy, my fine lookin’ salter.” He whines out his words and curls his arms around you as you slam the door shut.

 “Kurloz, go back home!” Your tone is more like one speaking to a dog then one speaking to a moirail. He just continues to whine and leans against you heavier and heavier until you start to think he’ll crush you.

 You twist and shrug him off, and he falls on his side. The thump he makes actually echoes a little. You retreat to your bed and climb onto it. _Clowns_. Even as you glower at him, he starts to crawl across the floor to your bed.

 “BroooooOOONK.”

 You close your eyes and pull your pillow over your head. You literally have a clown that’s followed you home. And he doesn’t seem like he wants to leave any time soon. You feel the bed shift as he climbs on it, and then he climbs onto you.

 “Ow.” You say, even though you’re not hurt in the least.

 Kurloz curls himself around you and squeezes on.

 “Brother, palebro, palest diamond I do so love. Please get ya chill on with me, and forgive a brother for his most awful misdeeds.” He says in probably the most serious voice you’ve ever heard from him. He is apologetic, you know that, and he didn’t mean any harm.

 With a sigh, you lift your head from under the pillow.

 “Fine, Kurloz. I forgive you. It’s all right.” You say. He honks in delight and squeezes onto you. “You’re going home tomorrow, you hear me?”

 “Not now?” All the seriousness is gone, and his arms slid all the way around you. “Brother be wantin’ me to make up for bein’ most terrible on his mind and thoughts earlier, eh?”

 “You could say that.” You grin and press your now blushing face into the pillow. This is going to be fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, there we go. I'll be doing a third chapter with more actual pale stuff going on. See ya'll next week!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Cw for dirty talking and stuff idk.

You watch as Kurloz ambles about your room, looking for the box of supplies that you have hidden. He picks up a stack of books that clearly has nothing under it and sets it down. Then he checks your shelves. Which clearly have nothing but books on them.

   You wonder how he’ll go tonight. He’ll ask, you decide. He’ll ask how he should go, not wanting to offend or upset you again. If you say you don’t care, you’ll probably end up with a headful of voodoos again, so you’d better word it more precise than that.

  There’s a triumphant honk, and Kurloz lifts up a box from where it was sitting in plain sight. Your paling supplies, of course. You sit up and he hops over to you and drops it on the bed. What a moron. Your moron, but a moron all the same.

  “There you go, brother. What do ya want to do, hmm?” He asks.

  Admittedly, you’re not exactly ready to jump into that at the moment. (Your nasty wake up is still sitting near the front of your mind.) You’d like a bit of tea and a snack before you get started. You tell him so and he sighs and shakes his head, but leaves to get the things you’ve asked for anyway.

  While he’s gone, you spend the time thinking and getting yourself into the state that you want to be in to be paled. Your thoughts turn to things more upsetting to you, the empire being toppled and the empress never noticing you. Mindfang’s most recent games. The rebels and the pirates.

  By the time the Highblood returns, you’re almost shaking. Almost. You eat the food and tea that Kurloz brings you and decide what you want to do. You tap his horn, which his laying against your shin, and he twists his head to look up to you.

  “Bondage. Blindfold. Powerplay. Dirty talk. Hemoplay. Humilulation.” You rattle off the things you’d enjoy and beside you, Kurloz wriggles in excitement. “No voodoos.”

  “I hear you, brother.” He climbs on the bed and sets a hand on your back. He pushes, squishing you into the bed and making you squeak in protest. That draws a giggle from him and an eyeroll from you.

  He opens the box, and a few moments later, he presses a blindfold over your eyes and ties it behind your head. You close your eyes and wait for him. He hums as he works, some carnival tune you’ve heard him singing before.

  Your hands are next, tied up behind you again. He moves down and ties your knees and ankles together. You’re at his mercy once again, but it’s so much better this time. Your head is clear and your moirail is listening to you.

 “You like that?” Kurloz asks. You grumble softly. Don’t want to make it too easy, too fasyt He croons and grabs onto your hair. He starts pulling on it, giving little yanks and tugs as his other hand tests the ropes to make sure you’re staying put.

  The pain the hair pulling gives is negligible, but you whine pathetically for him. He giggles and tugs harder. _That_ makes you whine in earnest.

  “Yeah. My pale slut. Pretty little fishy whore.” He leans down, presses his mouth to the base of your fin. His voice is a low hiss. Wow, you forget how fast he can get into this. It would be scary if you weren’t his moirail. “You hear me? You’re a whore. _My_ whore, don’t you forget that. I see how you look at my brothers. At that Darkleer. At the empress herself. You’d go after anyone who gave you half a chance.

  “But you’re _mine_.”

  Kurloz growls loudly and pulls on your hair until your chin is pointing up and your neck is bare to him. He nibbles on and presses sloppy kisses to the front of it and to your gills, drawing soft little squeaks and mewls from your throat.

  It’s a little bit of a strange thought. Even in such a position, even pinned and tied and with the Grand Mother Fuckin’ Highblood’s teeth against your throat, you feel safe. You feel all right and safe. Safer then you did when you were alone, trying to upset yourself. That’s what’s so nice about having a moirail, you guess. They make you feel safe.

  You whimper happily as he bites into your throat and sucks. He’s going to leave marks, make sure everyone you see knows you belong to someone else. He growls happily after he lets go and drags his tongue across the mark.

  “Mine. All mine. Everyone can see that you’re my slut. Ain’t no one goin’ to be touchin’ you, hear me?” He says. He nuzzled roughly against your fin and you groan softly for him.

  “Yeah, I hear you. I hear you, brother, I’m yours. I’m all yours, I promise. I love you. Gods, I’m so p-pale for you, please.” You whisper. You don’t even know what you’re begging for but you know that you need _more_. More of his hands, his touch, his voice, his mouth. Your pleading is pathetic, which is exactly what you want to be right now.

  “Shh. Patience, fishy, patience. It’ll come. Hang on.” Kurloz giggles softly. You whine but nod as best you can with him hanging onto your hair. “Do you want it? Want me to keep going and make you feel all relaxed as a mother fucker can be? Yeah?”

  He readjusts his grip so you can’t even nod, then presses his mouth against your top gill slit. Before you can even register what he’s about to do, he thrusts his tongue into your gill slit. You can’t describe the noise you make. It’s a strangled, gurgling, bubbling noise. He drips delight down his voodoos, and you’d object, but you know enough to know that he doesn’t have the control over them to make them not do that when he’s excited. It’s flattering to know he’s that excited about doing this.

  Kurloz wiggles his tongue in your gill slit, tasting the salt in there and making you whimper in pleasure. Your gills are so delicate and tender, and he knows just how to play them to have you melting in his claws.

  Eventually, he draws out, letting a string of saliva hang between you and him for a second before snapping it. He kisses your jaw. You croon weakly in response. Your body is trembling, and your noise trembles too.

  “Love you, Crobro.” He croons. He lets go of your hair and nudges you onto your side. Once you’re there, he crawls around and presses against your back. His arms wrap around you and squeeze gently. “Love you. My sweet pale slut. You’re so darling. I love you.”

  “L-love you.” You stutter out. You’re still reeling from having his long ass tongue in your god damned neck.

  He honks and presses a kiss behind your fin. He begins to nibble on it while his hands pet down your sides, stroking you. He keeps up his nibbling and stroking, and gently presses more voodoos into your mind. Then he waits.

  You ponder it. You could say no. You could tell him to take his voodoos away, and he’d do it. But you don’t. You invite them in, reach over and pull them more towards you. He floods your mind at once. With his voodoos, he brings memories of warmth and drink, of all sorts of lovely comforts that the two of you have shared. You go limp in his arms, staring at nothing as your mind is filled.

  “Oh yes, you like that. Big, tough fish likes being crammed full a goodness and snuggled to within an inch a his life. That’s right. I know you do. I love you, my own little fish.” He purrs loudly in your ear and sets his chin on your head.

  You can smell the pheromones he releases as he rubs against you, marking him as his own, and you whimper happily. No one’s going to be going near you for hours. They’ll smell the damn Grand Highblood on you. Maybe you can finally get some peace and quiet while you’re out at sea, not have everyone coming at you with petty problems and weird requests.

  You hold onto that thought as he continues to mark you with his scent and croon soft nothings in your ear. You can feel sleep taking you, urged on by his voodoos and your own calmed state.

  “Go on, rest, mother fucker. I’ll watch over you, all right?” He mutters. You mumble some nonsense about watching over yourself and he giggles quietly.

  And then sleep takes you once more, and you’re sure you won’t be woken up by voodoos this time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welp, that's probably the end of that. Hope ya'll enjoyed this.

**Author's Note:**

> *Slams fists on table* More of these two
> 
> Might be doing a second chapter.


End file.
